So I'm at this café in Tribeca, waiting for my OkCupid date, Rachel. Her profile said she loves cats, coffee, and conspiracy theories—basically the holy trinity of internet dating. Rachel walks in, and immediately it feels like I've been catfished. She's wearing a full-on cat costume. Not just ears and a tail—no, she's committed in a giant tabby onesie, whiskers drawn on her cheeks, the whole shebang. I’m starting to wonder if this is a flash mob situation when she looks directly at me with a grin that mirrors the Cheshire Cat itself. We sit, we chat, and despite my initial concerns, she’s surprisingly normal under all that faux fur. But then she leans in, lowering her voice, and asks, "Have you ever wondered if pigeons are just surveillance drones made by the government?" Before I can respond, a pigeon swoops down onto our table, landing right in the middle of my half-eaten croissant. She doesn’t even blink. "You see," she whispers, pointing at the pigeon, "they always know." Suddenly, in unison, everyone in the café pulls off matching tabby onesies, stands up, and starts chanting, “The truth is out there!” Turns out Rachel wasn't just into conspiracy theories—she was the leader of a full-on cat cult. And me? I had stumbled into their monthly meeting. Needless to say, I now